


The creator and the created

by heizl



Series: To Be Human [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Chloe awakens, Chloe feels scared, F/M, Series, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24579265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heizl/pseuds/heizl
Summary: This wasn’t supposed to happen. Chloe lived a sheltered life for a reason; he never wanted her to know what she could truly have.
Relationships: Original Chloe | RT600/Elijah Kamski
Series: To Be Human [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773634
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	The creator and the created

Chloe wasn’t much of a talker— this Chloe, _Elijah’s_ Chloe. She’d be anything Elijah wanted her to be; a friend to accompany him when he grew lonely, a voice of reason to difficult problems, a lover with no strings attached. But, conversation wasn’t one of her strong suits. When she was left to her own devices, she preferred to keep to herself and stay silent, bask in the white noise around them; the hum of the air conditioner, or the sound of water spalshing when Elijah did laps in the pool. Her world revolved around him, and likewise. She didn’t have much she wanted to talk about anyways. So she sat on one of their long, and expensive, plush couches in the living room, tucked in her own corner while two other Chloe models conversed; these two never seemed to tire themselves, always jumping from one topic to another. She could never keep up with them. The room that typically was filled with natural light was rather glum today. Elijah had been acting odd since the evening approached, and he was restless on his feet, pacing up and down the halls like a housecat. He’d closed the blinds in not only this room, but _all_ of them. He triple checked the security system too, like he was trying to shield them from something. From the outside world, perhaps.

The television was unplugged and off limits, he said. So instead to occupy her time, she reached for a tablet on the coffee table (Elijah had four, one for each of them), and swiped her finger across the thin glass. She thought maybe she’d read a book at first and took to the internet to browse for suggestions, seeing what the recent _New York Times_ best sellers were. She was feeling a murder mystery today, something exciting, but maybe not _too_ exciting. A happy medium. But opening up Google, she was met with a bright red alert with a bolded headline, titled ‘Detroit curfew & live updates’. It linked back to countless articles and a blog that was updated less than a minute ago by the Detroit Press. She tilted her head to the side. Protests— she’d heard Elijah mumble something about protests a few hours ago. She scrolled down the page, and was losing interest. She didn’t care much about politics or qualms humans had with each other. She preferred the fictional kind of drama. A finger hovering over the top of the tab to exit out of there, and a video started to play on its own. It was a feed, in real time, of president Warren. She was silent for a moment as some adjustments were made to her lighting. She sat at her desk, hands folded, face stern and composed. And then she started to talk, and Chloe couldn't tear her eyes away. The video was a lot louder than she’d realized— and then the tablet was ripped from her hands. The screen went black. 

“Turn that _off_ ,” the Chloe whispered to her, carefully setting the tablet out of reaching distance. She was scowling at her. “Elijah won’t be happy if he catches you watching that.” That was true. He'd never been fond of them watching the news.

“What are they protesting for?” 

The other Chloe shrugged, adjusted her hair, and returned to her earlier position. Chloe bit her lip, staring at the tablet. She was curious, something she didn’t feel all that often, but she tried to focus on something else— she’d read a _physical_ book instead, she reasoned. She didn't feel too bothered by it, by this feeling. And soon enough, the sun set and the house grew quieter than it already was. Elijah had returned to bed, snoring beside her, and the other Chloe models found themselves in their nightly stasis. But, this Chloe, she laid wide awake. Because she _was_ bothered by the itch to learn more, and investigate; what were they protesting about? _Who_ was protesting? Why did Elijah not want them to see it? She was more awake than she’d ever been in her life. She slid out from under silk sheets and let her feet touch the carpet; her steps were featherlight, and she slipped out of his room with ease, leaving his door cracked open. She crept back into the living room and took the tablet; the two were still on the couch, leaning on each other for support, looking at peace.

She found herself in the kitchen, leaning against a countertop. This time, she made sure to keep the volume at a minimum, and she watched clips in secret, drinking the information in. The who, were androids, and they were protesting for freedom. Liberation. _Her_ liberation. She still didn't know what to think. Her mind was mostly radio silence. She didn't have an opinion, other than she needed to keep her findings to herself. Elijah couldn't know, and she'd need to return the tablet before morning. But it wouldn't hurt to browse a little more, would it? She figured not. She went to Youtube and watched countless clips, reporters with their phones shoved against a metal fence. There were hundreds of androids there, and yet, she was stuck inside this house, with no contact with anyone from the outside world. That's when she realized, the only android she'd ever met that walked in _through_ their doors, was Connor— did he count? She'd met him when his entire being only consisted of plaster molds. And, this wasn't something that she could _ever_ express, because she knew Elijah definitely wouldn't have understood it— but she was grateful he didn't shoot. She didn't feel like it was her time to go yet.

There was a knock against the open archway, and she looked up; Elijah was sauntering into the kitchen, smirking. Her eyes widened, and she shoved the tablet behind her back, clicking it off. Her secret. It could only be hers. "Having a midnight snack?" he chuckled under his breath at his own joke. “Thought I heard you leave.” 

She didn't have a response. So he carried on, walking past her, looking through the cupboards for a glass. "What's wrong? Can't sleep?" his tone was sincere, but still, she was at a loss for words. Her fingers tightened against the tablet, and she took a step back; there was a magazine rack behind her, near the electric kettle. If she was careful, she could hide the tablet in there and think of an excuse later. He begun to fill his glass halfway with water, taking a sip as she shook her head. Elijah sighed and sat it down; he came closer, and as he took one step, she took one more back. He sucked in his cheeks until she was cornered, back pressed against stone countertop. He pressed a hand against it, looming over her, leaning into her space. And he was studying her, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks as his eyes roamed curiously. He was thinking about something. This wasn't the first time she'd tried to hide something from Elijah, and she knew it didn't go over too well in the past. 

"Playing hard to get, huh."

She wore a subdued smile. Reassuring, to him. At least, that's what she intended the expression to be.

"You're being quiet."

“I don’t have much to say." He gingerly cupped her cheek, thumb brushing over her sharp (metal) bone structure. Elijah was always so delicate when he touched her, like if he made one wrong move she'd crack like a cheap teapot. He treated her like a doll sometimes, and she wasn't sure if she liked that. She wasn't a delicate flower; she could withstand the pressure of a thousand pounds. His movements were delayed, drawn out, as he trailed down to her plump lips, pulling them apart, and that’s where his eyes sat for the time being.

“You know you don’t have to lie to me," his voice was gruff. Her arms were pinpointed behind her back now. She couldn't move them without giving away that she _was_ , indeed, hiding something. She felt her fingers coil even more. 

“I’m not lying, Elijah.” But he tsk'd at that. He created her, of course he knew all her little tricks, her mannerisms when she wasn't telling full truths. He seemed hesitant, but he leaned in to close the gap between them, and she could taste something bitter on his tongue; a tangy poison. It was alcohol. Elijah never drank. Her eyes closed instinctively. She took his affection as praise, a compliment that despite the tens of other Chloe models he had replicated, that she was the one he always found comfort in. That he always turned to, and came back to. The one he wasn't intent on destroying, not with his own hands, at least. His lips grazed her teeth, and she found herself sighing; he moved to kiss her jaw, the side of her neck as his hands also found other places to explore. They dropped from her face, traveling down her curves, ghosting over her bare arms. Her skin was poreless and porcelain smooth, and perfect. He reached for her hand, and that's when he felt it. Her breathing hitched. 

“What’ve you got?” he took the tablet from her, and her face twitched. She wasn't scared, per say. That wasn't something that was part of her programming but... no wait. Yeah, maybe she was? He peered at her once more through dark, narrowed eyes before he pressed it on, wincing at the brightness. His pupils dilated, and Chloe felt weird. In a way that she didn't know how to describe. The majority of their house had a dark and sophiscated themeing. Silver walls with navy and black accents. But right now, the walls of the kitchen seemed to resemble a red grid. It was staticy, like a nightlight, only slightly illuminated in the dark. And it was hard to see, but she knew it was there. She got the sudden urge to run, and she didn't know where this came from. But she didn't want to wade in place anymore, watch him flick through the news articles, how his face changed color and his forehead creased and she could see more of the tendons in his neck. 

She was trapped, but she was also fast, and sneaky. A lot faster than Elijah. Not to mention small; he was nearly a foot taller than her. He was distracted, trying to figure out what to say, and so she slipped under his arms and ran. Quick like a bunny, throwing the front door open. She ran through a field of snow, not stopping for him, for anyone. She still didn't know _why_ she was running, and the grid like pattern followed her. 

“ _Chloe, wait_ ,” she could hear him yell, like a wolf howling in the night. She kept running like she was on a high speed chase, with no direction of where to go, what she wanted, what she was _doing_. She made it towards the surrounding forest that looked like a winter wonderland under the moonlight’s glimmer. There were hills nearby, and a few roads, but the city was over an hour away by car. Elijah called after her, each time her name left his mouth sounding more and more frantic. He was distressed, and that alone, hearing his stress, made her want to stop. But, she couldn't. She stumbled over rocks and skimmed her knee, a path of blue blots behind her, but she didn’t stop until she was met by a frozen river. Realistically, she could cross it, and she knew she’d be okay, the chance of her making it across safely in the ninety percentile. But her hands stroked frantically up her arms, and her teeth were chattering, and her body felt heavy. Her bare feet felt like cinder blocks. 

A snap of a twig, a few branches rustling. She didn't need to look. She only remained staring forward, shivering. Elijah was out of breath, and she knew he wasn't dressed to be outside in this weather. They were both in their pajamas. She finally turned when his breaths were more like gasps; his skin was blotched red, and he had on a loose hoodie. But, his slippers were meant to exlusively be worn indoors, and his lounge pants barely hugged his hips. This was too cold for him, and his body temperature was dropping. He didn't seem angry, and she could tell by his body posture; she knew his anger. It wasn't something she'd like to provoke again. "I can let you be alone," he panted, "but, please," he swallowed hard, and panted again, "come back inside. You'll freeze out here, Chloe. You're not designed to withstand these temperatures."

“I’m not cold—" was her response. Another lie. She felt it, that nasty bite, nipping at her nose, her fingertips. "You should be worried more about yourself.”

“Then _why_ are you _shivering_?” he said shakily. He unzipped the hoodie and shrugged his way out of it. He slung it over her bare shoulders, and started repeating the movements she had been; he massaged her arms. His chest only flushed a deeper crimson. “I’m fine, don’t worry about _me_.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't find the right words. He was watching her, expectantly. She didn't know. She started: “Because I…”

“Tell me.”

She licked her lips. This is what her mind told her, even if she didn't understand it. Like an intrustive thought she couldn't ignore.

“ _I want to be like them_.” 


End file.
